


aphelion, perihelion, and everything in between

by qingting



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, M/M, Oikawa Tooru is a Nerd, Pre-Relationship, Stress, but mostly - Freeform, can be seen as either romantic or platonic tbh so i tagged it as both, for hqss2017!!, i cant believe thats a tag im screaming, i mean there's some crying, some bg matsuhana, there's a little bit of angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qingting/pseuds/qingting
Summary: “Stay focused, Hajime-chan,” Issei says flatly. “Where are you now? We can hardly hear you.”“The train station?”Issei furrows his eyebrows together. “The train station? Why are you at a train station? Which one?”“Uh, it says…” Iwaizumi’s voice dies out briefly, before coming back with a crackle. “--za. Yeah, Ginza. Oh, I’m back at Ginza now, okay.”He says it so casually, Issei can hardly believe it.Hanamaki’s jaw drops open.“Ginza!?” he screeches. “Why are you in Tokyo!?”Hajime gets lost in Tokyo. Tooru has to come find him.





	aphelion, perihelion, and everything in between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momothesweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/gifts).



> This is my hqss fic for [momo](https://shoujomomo.tumblr.com/)! Before we begin, a few things:
> 
> 1\. I am so so so sorry I couldn't use any of your prompts. This was originally for someone else and I had almost all of it done when I found out my original giftee had dropped out and i had been reassigned to you. A thousand apologies, but I hope you still enjoy it anyways!
> 
> 2\. I wrote this at a time when I had a lot of stuff going on in my personal life and I was feeling super stressed, so that might have transferred over a little, and I'm sorry for that too. I hope the stress build-up is realistic, at least. 
> 
> 3\. Astronomy nerd Oikawa might be a little overused of a headcanon, but I myself am a bit of an astro nerd so how could I not?
> 
> 4\. In spite of all my previous apologies, I'm so proud of this fic and I feel like I went through a lot of growth as a writer while writing this. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Issei probably wouldn't have known he was being called if Hanamaki hadn’t been napping on his bag at the moment it starts to ring.

Up on the school rooftop, Hanamaki had decided to catch a few minutes of sleep, using both Issei’s lap and his bag as head support. It’s just the two of them today. Iwaizumi is strangely absent, and Oikawa tutors some kids in math every Monday. The gentle breeze had lulled Hanamaki to sleep almost instantly, and Issei has probably been dropping crumbs all over his face from the croquette he’s eating.

“Hey, Issei,” Hanamaki says suddenly, and Issei almost drops the rest of his food in surprise. Hanamaki scrunches up his face in displeasure, trying to dig his head further into the fabric. “I think your phone is ringing.”

Issei raises an eyebrow. “Really now?” he drawls, smoothing out the creases in Hanamaki’s forehead with his free hand.

Hanamaki shifts, pushing the bag deeper into Issei’s lap. “Yeah.”

Issei sets his croquette down. “Are you gonna give it to me?”

Hanamaki yawns, smacks his lips together noisily. “No.”

“Hiro.”

Hanamaki makes a small sound of protest. “ _Fine_ ,” he relents, drawing the vowel out in a lazy whine.

He rummages through Issei’s bookbag, locating the phone quickly and tossing it at his face before returning to his original position in Issei’s lap. Issei snatches it out of the air. The phone vibrates in his hands once more before stopping.

He checks the caller ID. “Iwaizumi just called me.”

“Is he gonna tell you why he ditched school today?” asks Hanamaki, digging an elbow into Issei’s thigh to prop himself up.

“Let’s see.”

He calls Iwaizumi back and puts the phone on speaker. Together, he and Hanamaki watch the blinking screen, the sharp beeping mixing with the sounds of their breathing for an oddly rhythmic harmony.

There’s a click. Suddenly, their ears are assaulted with a cacophony of sound, cars roaring by and people chattering and shoes clicking on pavement. The noise rushes out of his phone’s tinny speakers and into the cool rooftop air, disturbing the quiet. Issei winces, holding the phone an arm’s length away from them.

“Hello?”

Even competing with the volume of the background noise, Iwaizumi’s voice is still unmistakably clear. He and Hanamaki exchange a look. “You’re not dead,” says Hanamaki.

Issei can almost hear Iwaizumi rolling his eyes through the phone. “Yeah, no kidding. If I were any more alive, I probably would have punched someone in the gut already. This place is crazy.”

Issei opens his mouth--

“And before you say anything, I need to ask you something.”

\--and shuts it.

There’s a beat of silence. “You still there?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Yeah,” they say in unison.

“Good,” he says, and they hear him take a deep breath before he continues with “I think I’m lost.”

Hanamaki snorts. “Lost? Are you sure you’re eighteen, not eight?”

Issei clutches his stomach with his free arm, nearly elbowing Hanamaki in his laughter. “Oi, shut up!” Iwaizumi yells, voice starting to distort. “It’s not funny!”

“You’re lost?” Issei hiccups. “Does little Hajime-chan need Matsukawa-nii and Hanamaki-nii to help him get home?”

“I’m serious,” Iwaizumi growls, and that sets them off again. “I really don’t know where I am!”

Issei takes a few gasping breaths, trying to calm himself down enough to reply. “Okay, little Hajime-chan, we’ll help you get home. Where do you think you are right now?” Hanamaki asks.

“Uh…” They can hear Iwaizumi walking toward an area concentrated with more people. “I’m walking past some stores… Lawson… Family Mart… some place selling grapefruit juice...”

“Are you near Kyoutani’s house?” Hanamaki asks.

Iwaizumi snorts. “Doubt it.”

On the other end, Iwaizumi walks near some more people, sending Issei’s phone’s speakers into a riot. “Oh, there’s a bakery called Asanoya, looks pretty good. I wonder if their milk bread is as good as the bakery near home.”

“Stay focused, Hajime-chan,” Issei says flatly. “Where are you now? We can hardly hear you.”

“The train station?”

Issei furrows his eyebrows together. “The train station? Why are you at a train station? Which one?”

“Uh, it says…” Iwaizumi’s voice dies out briefly, before coming back with a crackle. “--za. Yeah, Ginza. Oh, I’m back at Ginza now, okay.”

He says it so casually, Issei can hardly believe it.

Hanamaki’s jaw drops open.

“Ginza!?” he screeches. “Why are you in Tokyo!?”

“Uh, long story. Anyways, can you tell me how to get back?”

Issei rubs his forehead. “I’ve never been to Tokyo. Do you see a map anywhere?”

“Send it to me,” Hanamaki adds.

“Uh, okay.”

Hanamaki’s phone pings. “That picture’s way too blurry,” he declares. “Get a better one.”

The next picture comes in. “Do you even know how to take photos?” Hanamaki says derisively.

“I’m sorry, this phone has a bad camera,” Iwaizumi says through Issei’s phone, sounding as vexed as the day Oikawa accidentally spilled an entire bowl of udon on him. Issei can only begin to imagine the kinds of faces he’s making right now. “Can you pull it up on a website or something?”

With a few deft taps, Hanamaki pulls up the metro map on his phone, zooming in to squint at it. “Ok,” he announces. “If you get on… this line, and then you… you stop at… _here…_ and then you transfer to _this_ line-”

“Not helping,” Iwaizumi cuts in drily.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” says Hanamaki. “Maybe I don’t know how to navigate Tokyo, did you think of that before you went and got yourself lost?”

Iwaizumi’s sigh breaks up in the poor connection. “I didn’t intend to get myself lost. It just happened.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t _intend_ on helping you navigate the busiest city in Japan from four hundred kilometers away, but apparently that’s out of my control as well,” Hanamaki snarks. “So how about you let me try and decipher this mess of metro lines before you start yapping about me not being helpful.”

Issei places a hand on Hanamaki’s shoulder. “At least Iwaizumi, one of our best friends in the entire world, came to you in his time of need, right? Sounds like he’s just a little stressed right now,” he says in a voice that he knows very clearly conveys how hilarious he thinks the situation is. Hanamaki rolls his eyes, but leans back into Issei’s lap and continues trying to find a way to get Iwaizumi through the tangle of lines and stations.

“Which brings me to my next question,” Issei begins. He pulls the phone closer to his mouth, and imagines that if Iwaizumi were here at this very moment, he’d be on the receiving end of Issei’s steeliest gaze. “Why’d you come to us and not Oikawa?”

“What makes you think I didn’t go to Oikawa first?” Iwaizumi’s crackly voice demands.

Issei waits.

Iwaizumi tries again. “Okay, well, would you really expect me to go to Oikawa for help?” he asks in a voice that very obviously says that even if he knew Oikawa wouldn’t be able to help him he would still trust him enough to ask.

“Nice to know we’re not your last resort this time,” Hanamaki’s voice floats up from below.

Issei adds, “Even if there are circumstances that prevent you from going directly to Oikawa. Even if you should tell us those circumstances.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Well, it can’t really be helped. I’ll just try and figure out how to get home,” he says, ignoring Issei’s last sentence. “Where’d you say I have to go from here, Hanamaki?”

“Tokyo station,” Hanamaki answers. “From there you can hop on the Shinkansen, which I assume is how you got to Tokyo in the first place.”

Iwaizumi sighs again, and curses. “Why do I have no directional sense,” he mutters under his breath.

Hanamaki opens his mouth to say something right when the bell rings, effectively bringing their conversation to a grinding halt. “Gotta go, Iwaizumi,” Issei says, shaking Hanamaki off his lap and packing his stuff back into his bag. “See you when you get back.”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue. “All I can say is take the Ginza line,” he says, stretching out his back. “You’re on your own, Hajime-chan. Good luck.”

“I can’t hear you, what-”

“Bye, Iwaizumi,” says Issei, slinging his bag over his shoulder and brushing the crumbs off his pants.

“Oi, don’t tell Oikawa-”

“Bye!” Hanamaki shouts, tapping the off button on Issei’s phone and grabbing his free hand. He drags him down the stairs and into the hallway, feet pounding hurriedly towards their classrooms. “I don’t wanna be late again,” Hanamaki huffs, clutching his bookbag to his chest as they run. “Do you know what Kobayashi-sensei did last time?”

 

* * *

 

“-about this, okay?” Hajime yells into the phone, but his screen flashes ‘call ended’ before he can get out another word. He tries his best to muffle his curses, but the father holding his daughter’s hand as they walk by still gives him a dirty look.

What line did Hanamaki tell him to take, again? It was less than a minute ago, but he can’t seem to remember for the life of him. Signs flash in all directions, their words whirling around inside his head like Oikawa’s tosses adding a backspin to the ball, but this time it doesn’t land perfectly in his palm for him to spike.

Someone’s suitcase knocks into his parcel, and he nearly bites their head off, snapping out a “Watch where you’re going!” in the direction they went in. Although, it’s probably his fault anyways, for bringing such a large package with him, but it really can’t be helped.

He groans.

He hadn’t even thought to bring a hand truck for more ease of carrying his cumbersome load, he mourns, gathering the heavy box in his arms. He _had_ thought he was more logical, sensible one as opposed to Oikawa in their friendship, but he’s not sure Oikawa would ever try to bring a large package on the metro without thinking about it seriously first. Catching sight of an information booth, he staggers over, swerving wildly to narrowly avoid crashing into other people. His success rate is a little lower than he’d like; he clips someone in the shoulder and nearly takes a child’s head off, but he manages to make it over to the booth without any major accidents.

“Hi,” he breathes out sharply, setting the box down on the counter as gently as possible. It still rattles with a sound that makes him wince. The lady sitting at the counter gives him a weird look. “How do I get to Tokyo Station? And, uh, to the Shinkansen?”

Still shooting him apprehensive looks out of the corner of her eye, the attendant pulls out a map from the stack carefully filed on her desk. Uncapping her pen, she circles ‘Ginza’ in stark blue ink. “This is where you are now.” She looks up at him as if to check if he’s still following, and he motions for her to continue. She drags her pen up one of the lines, circling ‘Tokyo’ at the end. “Just take the Marunouchi line up to Tokyo station. Do you know how to get to the platform?”

He shakes his head ‘no’, and she points up a flight of stairs and tells him specifically to get on the even-numbered platform, not the odd. “Get off as soon as you reach Tokyo,” she says slowly, as if speaking to a particularly young child. Hajime presses his lips together in a thin line. “Then you should be able to ask someone how to get to the Shinkansen platforms, or find it yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says, taking the map from the attendant’s outstretched hand. He stuffs it in his pocket gracelessly, rolling his shoulders before gently maneuvering the box into his arms again. “Have a nice day!”

“You as well,” she replies, nodding solemnly. It’s a few seconds after Hajime turns away that she jerks out of her seat and lurches to her feet. “Sir,” she calls after him, arms pushing her over the counter. “I wouldn’t recommend bringing a package like that on the train. Sir! Sir!”

But Hajime is already out of range, striding purposefully to the stairs under the bright sign reading ‘Marunouchi’.

“Sir, please! That’s not a good-- Sir!”

She gives up, falling back into her seat with a thump. He’s not the first crazy traveler she’s seen, and he definitely won’t be the last.

 

* * *

 

Takahiro catches Oikawa filing into his classroom with the rest of his classmates out of the corner of his eye as he and Matsukawa run down the hallway. “Iwaizumi’s in Tokyo!” he yells as they pass by.

Oikawa does a double take. “What!?”

“He’s lost in Tokyo!” repeats Takahiro. “That’s why he wasn’t here today.”

Matsukawa tugs on his hand. “Come on, we gotta go.”

Takahiro stumbles after him, craning his neck backwards just in time to catch Oikawa gritting his teeth. “Thanks for telling me, Makki,” Oikawa calls after him. “Looks like Iwa-chan and I will need to have some words.”

“You’re welcome!” he yells back.

Matsukawa tugs him forward sharply so they can run side by side. A teacher yells at them, to which he pays no mind. “You know you’re dead, right?” he asks with the utmost seriousness. “I can’t be responsible for any murders that Iwaizumi commits.”

Takahiro grins. “Worth it.”

 

* * *

 

Hajime exhales sharply, blinks away the pressure building behind his eyes. How could he have gotten lost, again?

He must have taken the wrong line. Or the wrong platform. Had the information lady told him to take the even-numbered platform or the odd? He could have even gotten distracted and missed his stop. He’s been fairly distracted lately.

Oikawa is already a distraction impossible to ignore on his good days. With how it’s been lately, Oikawa seems to occupy every little nook, cranny, and crevice of his mind. He didn’t even know he was capable of thinking this much about one thing, but trust Oikawa to make him find out.

Hajime finds a bench to sit on and sets the box down next to him. He can feel the tension in his shoulders from carrying around the package for hours already, and his legs are starting to wobble. He briefly entertains the idea of taking off his shoes and letting his feet breathe, but that idea is quickly tossed out the window, in favor of preserving whatever dignity he has left and not exposing the world to the stench of his feet.

He lets out a few sad laughs, lets his head roll back and hit the top of the bench. What has he come to, he wonders numbly, lost from wandering around in Tokyo. He never has problems getting around in Miyagi, but that’s just it, he supposes. This isn’t Miyagi.

This is what people say about big cities, he muses. Large and busy and bustling and entirely impersonal. You could pass by someone on the street and never again come across them in ten years of living in the same city. Cars screech at each other and signs flash insistently, showing off different advertisements and pictures. It’s also much hotter here, he bemoans, wishing he’d worn something other than jeans today. Today is enough; he wouldn’t be able to handle it in the long run.

Oikawa probably could, though. Hajime sits up straight again, watching people rush by in the busy station. He’d probably thrive on the big city energy, with his dreams and goals and thing with always having to do something, go somewhere. Oikawa always has a firm grip on the face of a mountain, hands and feet secure in little nooks and handholds, steadily making his way upwards. Sometimes, Hajime feels like he’s standing in a meadow at the base of the mountain, just watching him go. Further and further up he climbs, until he’s just a little speck at the summit, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling something faint and unintelligible at Hajime.

He prides himself on understanding Oikawa like the back of his hand, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been able to understand how Oikawa can stand to be so motivated, so energetic, _all the time._

His phone buzzes. _Speak of the devil._

“Hey,” he says wearily, remembering to cough a little. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?”

“Aren’t you?” Oikawa’s cutting voice comes through the speakers and slices into his skin. Hajime pales.

He coughs feebly again. “I thought my mom told you I was sick and couldn’t go to school today.”

Oikawa ignores that. “What’s all that noise, Iwa-chan? I can hardly hear you.”

“Uh… the TV. I’m watching Godzilla again.”

“Ah, I see,” says Oikawa, and Hajime nearly breathes a sigh of relief before Oikawa’s next words stop him cold. “So you’re not off in Tokyo doing who knows what?”

 _Busted._ “What makes you think that?” asks Hajime, but it’s a lost cause.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Oikawa hums, flippant tone suddenly sharpening to a dangerous point. “Maybe because you told Makki and Mattsun _you got lost on the subway_?”

“Uh-”

“You always call me a dumbass, Iwa-chan,” he screeches, “but what kind of idiot skips school to travel three hours to Tokyo and gets lost there!? Do you have any idea how to get home?”

“Ye-”

“The semester is ending soon, you can’t just skip school for no reason! If your grades fall too low you won’t be able to go to training camps, you know that.”

“Eh-”

“And you were supposed to come to morning practice so we could plan out a team activity for winter holiday! We went over this, Iwa-chan, and then we couldn’t plan it out because you weren’t there and you weren’t answering your phone either!”

“I know but-”

Oikawa breathes out deeply through his nose. “What’s so important,” he asks, voice dropping, “that you had to rush to Tokyo, anyways?”

“I can’t tell you,” Hajime says, apologetic. “But it really was important, I promise.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything for a while, long enough that Hajime thinks he might have hung up already, but then the steady stream of noise from pedestrian traffic around him gets drowned out by the voice in his ear. “Where are you now?”

“Uh…” Hajime’s eyes dart around, locking onto the sign hanging above the exit. “Shinjuku. I think.”

“Okay,” Oikawa replies. “Stay there.”

“What?”

“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

Hajime splutters. “What about school?”

Oikawa scoffs. “Unlike you, I actually have good enough grades that I can afford to skip a day. Don’t. Move.”

“O… kay.”

Oikawa ends the call and leaves Hajime reeling. He wanders out of the station and finds a nearby cafe to sit in and order something, texting Oikawa the address and standing the box up next to his table. Thankfully, the place is empty enough that the box isn't in danger of being bumped into by someone.

Outside, the traffic dwindles down to maybe half the number of people of the earlier rush. Hajime blinks as little flakes of snow start to come down, melting into brown patches of slush when they meet the sidewalk. Sendai doesn't get much snow either, but it's practically drowning in precipitation compared to Tokyo. In normal years, at least. Hajime takes a seat and prepares to wait there for a while.

“Aw, I didn't bring snow boots or anything,” someone standing at the side of his booth says. Hajime murmurs a thanks as the waiter sets his tea down.

“I thought Tokyo didn't usually get snow until January,” Hajime mentions.

“Yeah, this is kind of early,” the waiter answers. “Maybe this is a sign that I should go home to visit my family.”

As if on cue, someone yells from the back, “Take a break, you workaholic!”

The waiter laughs, deep voice reverberating in his chest. “May I join you, then?”

Hajime gestures toward the empty seat on the other side of the booth, and he slides in.

This guy could probably be Ushijima’s long lost twin, Hajime thinks, if not for the fact that he’s a lot more talkative and looks a good few years older. But the imposing height and muscles are the same, as well as the soft smile that adorns his face. “Not from around here?” he asks.

Hajime shakes his head. “Just had to pick up this,” he replies, patting the box.

The waiter quirks an eyebrow. “They couldn't deliver it?”

“It's a long story,” Hajime sighs.

The waiter laughs at that again. Hajime could imagine Ushijima with that laugh, imagine being the operative word because he has not and will probably never hear Ushijima laugh. “Where do you hail from, then?”

“Sendai,” says Hajime. “We’ve already started getting some snow. Not that much, but more than this.”

“My family lives there,” probably-Ushijima the Elder exclaims, grinning. “My brother’s a high school student. He plays volleyball, and his team is really good. I saw them play at nationals last year.”

Definitely chattier than Ushijima. “Would your brother happen to go to Shiratorizawa?”

“Yeah!” he affirms, clearly surprised. “How’d you guess?”

Hajime smiles. “I play volleyball at Seijou, so we match up against them pretty often.”

“Ah, the fated rivals!” he says, making a mock serious face reminiscent of an anime character’s. “Although you guys have never won against them.”

Hajime grimaces.

“Oh, sorry -- sore spot?”

“A bit, yeah,” Hajime replies.

“Well, you guys must be pretty good, too,” the waiter consoles him. “My brother told me once about the setter and ace from that school. He said the way they sync together is like nothing he’s ever seen! They sound pretty amazing.”

 _My perfect trust with Iwa-chan_ , the little Oikawa in his head chirps. Hajime thinks about the feel of the ball in his hand, how when Oikawa sets it just seems to magnetically lock to his hand, how it feels like he hits some spikes with both of their combined strengths. “Yeah,” Hajime agrees. “It’s pretty amazing.”

“You guys are pretty different from them, huh?” older Ushijima asks. “Your team is all cohesive and value teamwork, while their team values individual power. No wonder you clash so often. It’s like battle of the strategies, too.”

“Your brother is pretty observant,” Hajime comments. There’s no way he can’t be Ushijima’s brother. “Is your brother Ushijima Wakatoshi-san, by any chance?”

Waiter guy blinks. “Super ace? No, but Jin says I look a lot like him. I’m Soekawa’s brother, by the way.”

“Vice Captain-san,” Hajime nods. “Nice to meet you, Soekawa-san.”

He’s not Ushijima’s brother. Saying Hajime feels a little betrayed would be an understatement.

“What position do you play, mystery volleyball customer?” Soekawa asks. “Or perhaps, are you one half of the acclaimed setter-ace pair?”

“I’m-”

Suddenly, all 183 centimeters of Oikawa come bursting in through the cafe door, covered in a light dusting of snow. It’s almost cute, how he sneezes softly, cheeks flushed. “Iwa-chan!”

Hajime stands up abruptly, nodding in apology to Soekawa. “Did you seriously forget to bring a thicker jacket?” he scolds Oikawa. “You’re going to get sick, and then what will we do?”

Suddenly, they’re standing right in front of each other, so close that Hajime can feel Oikawa’s breath on his face. He braces himself for loud yelling, or maybe even a slug in the arm.

The arms that wrap around him and squeeze him tight to Oikawa’s chest catch him a little off guard.

“What kind of idiot gets lost in Tokyo?” Oikawa mutters. “That important thing of of yours better have been worth it.”

Hajime laughs, bringing his arms up to reciprocate. “It was, I promise. Do you want my tea? I didn’t drink it.”

“It’s probably cold by now,” Oikawa grumbles, but he disentangles himself from Hajime and makes his way over to where Soekawa is now standing.

“It was nice talking to you,” Soekawa says. “Enjoy your tea.”

Hajime grabs Oikawa’s arm. “Oikawa, this is Soekawa’s brother. Soekawa-san, this is Oikawa. I’m Iwaizumi. It was nice talking to you.”

Soekawa raises his eyebrows. “Both halves of the setter-ace pair _are_ here then,” he says, smiling. “I should tell Jin.”

Oikawa smiles his fake smile. Hajime scowls. He’s probably thinking ugly thoughts. “It’s nice to meet you, Soekawa-san. Give your brother my regards.”

Soekawa goes to stand behind the counter again, and Oikawa slides in where he had previously been sitting. He takes a sip of the tea. “It’s cold.”

Hajime tries it, himself. “It is not, you baby. Just lukewarm.”

Oikawa glares at him, but takes another sip anyways. “... It’s good.”

Hajime smiles. “Yeah.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, taking turns drinking from the same cup. Oikawa side-eyes Soekawa rearranging the display on the counter. “Chatting it up with the enemy earlier, were you?”

Hajime kicks him under the table. “He’s just his brother, super volleyball idiot. He’s a nice guy.”

Oikawa gasps. “Don't put me on the same level as Ushiwaka-chan!”

“Where should I put you then? Below?”

Oikawa looks even more scandalized. “Ushiwaka-chan may be a super volleyball idiot, but I am a super volleyball genius! Admit it, Iwa-chan, you'd be lost without me.”

Normally, he’d retaliate with something like “nobody thinks that, you idiot” or “I wouldn’t have to deal with your waves of fangirls if you weren’t around”, but this time he just takes another sip and says, “Yeah.”

Oikawa coughs awkwardly, and tries to drink more tea, but the cup is empty now.

Hajime grabs his hands, shifting his grip so that their palms touch. “Sorry for making you come all this way,” he says.

Oikawa looks to the side, but the bright blush on his face is impossible to ignore. Hajime snorts under his breath. Trust Oikawa to be all flashy and over-the-top, yet uncomfortable with common displays of sincere emotion. “It's okay, Iwa-chan. I bought milkbread with the money I never returned to you, so consider us even.”

Hajime glares. “What happened to paying me back as soon as you found it?”

“I used some of that money to buy the Shinkansen ticket. Which was really expensive, by the way.”

“No one said you had to come after me.”

“Yeah, well, no one said you had to go running off to Tokyo, but here we are now.” Oikawa grins cheekily. “As your best friend, it’s my job to fix your screw-ups.”

“ _My_ screw-ups? What about _your_ screw-ups?”

“Non-existent,” Oikawa declares. “I’m too amazing to be any less than perfect all the time.”

“How about I pull out my phone and show you how perfect five year old Tooru looked when he tripped and fell into the river?” Hajime threatens, reaching for his pocket.

Oikawa lunges for his wrists and traps them together. “Whoa there, I don't think anyone needs to see that.”

Hajime wonders if he can discreetly slip his foot out of his shoe to tickle Oikawa in the rib.

Oikawa lets his wrists go to point at the box sitting at the foot of their table. “What's this for, anyways.”

“None of your business,” Hajime tells him.

“Rude, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. “Could it perhaps be a gift for yours truly?”

 _Yes._ “No. What gave you that idea?” Hajime asks.

“Christmas is coming up, Iwa-chan!” says Oikawa. “You know, that holiday where people who love and care about each other give each other stuff.”

“Does that mean you care about Kageyama now?” Hajime asks sardonically. “You know, you gave him something that one time in middle school.”

Oikawa chokes. “That doesn't count,” he insists, pounding his chest. He points a shaky finger at Hajime. “I was forced to do that. You should know, I dragged you all over the place looking for gifts for the team.”

“Unfortunately.”

Oikawa gives him a look. Hajime tries to drink more tea before remembering that the cup is empty.

“Hey, you wanna get more of this?” Hajime asks, holding up the cup.

Oikawa nods. “But then we should get going.”

Hajime glances out the window. He hadn't even noticed how dark it was getting. “You think your mom will kill you?”

“Only if your mom kills you,” replies Oikawa, grinning. He tries to pick up the box. “Oh boy, what’s in here-”

“Wait, give that to me-” Hajime tries to transfer the package into his arms, but almost makes it fall in the process. It’s an adrenaline-rushing save by Oikawa that saves it from hitting the ground, and together they stabilize it in Hajime’s arms.

“I can't believe you didn't-”

“Bring a hand truck, yeah,” Hajime sighs.

Oikawa buys a second cup of tea and Hajime says goodbye to Soekawa. They walk back to the station, going slowly so Hajime doesn't slip on the muddy slush. Oikawa wraps an arm around Hajime’s waist to try and support him, and it makes him feel tingly inside. It probably does more harm than help, actually, considering how it makes Hajime’s heart beat funny and his knees kind of wobbly, but he’s not about to tell Oikawa to stop.

They make it inside the train without any accidents. “This was like, the most impromptu date I’ve ever had. Run away to Tokyo to sit in a cafe for hours,” Oikawa comments, trying to help Hajime put the box somewhere where other passengers won’t accidentally hit it.

“Sorry I’m not as tiny and cute as your usual datemates,” Hajime says dryly, sliding into the window seat.

Oikawa laughs, a light sound that swirls around in Hajime’s head before spreading out to warm his fingers and toes. “It was fun, though.”

Hajime stares out the window at the wall of the tunnel. He can’t seem to stop the corners of his lips from turning up just the slightest bit. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki walk together to where, on a normal Monday afternoon, Oikawa and Iwaizumi would be waiting for them at the school gate, swarmed by Oikawa’s fangirls. Today, the only one there is a girl on the girls’ volleyball team. Matsukawa recognizes her vaguely, but not enough to say hi.

They stop at the line right where the campus meets the sidewalk. The girl waiting sees someone walking towards them, and waves fervently. She walks off hand in hand with another girl.

Hanamaki meets eyes with Matsukawa. “Oikawa’s not here.”

“Yeah.”

“Does this mean-”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa cuts him off.

“God bless those two fools,” Hanamaki sighs, smiling.

Matsukawa slips his fingers in between Hanamaki’s and holds their palms together. “Kyoutani says there’s a new type of karaage at the konbini.”

“Really now?” asks Hanamaki. “Well then, we have to try it.”

By the time they get there, Hanamaki’s shoes have soaked through, and a light dusting of snow rests on Matsukawa’s head.

 

* * *

 

Once the train starts moving, Hajime’s stomach growls.

He wishes he had thought of buying a bento from one of the vendors in the station. He checks his pockets for any mints or stray pieces of gum, but finds nothing but a wad of string that doesn’t match the color of his pants. He almost drops it on the floor of the carriage to do away with it before thinking otherwise, shoving it back into his pocket.

There’s a loud crinkling noise next to him. Oikawa carefully unwraps a riceball, taking little bites out of the top. It’s definitely leftovers from his lunch; Hajime wasn’t there to eat the stuff he didn’t like. It’s only now, as the train passes by countryside houses lit up behind drawn curtains, that he notices Oikawa’s schoolbag and uniform. He didn’t even go home before coming to find him.

Hajime grabs Oikawa’s wrist and takes a bite of the filling.

Oikawa makes a scandalized gurgling noise in the back of his throat. “Get your own food!”

“Don’t have any,” Hajime mumbles, pulling Oikawa’s wrist toward him and biting off a bigger piece this time. “Besides, you don’t like this filling anyway.”

“I’m still hungry, you jerk!” Oikawa whines. “I spent all of this afternoon running around Tokyo; I could eat ten loaves of milk bread and still be hungry.”

“I still don’t understand how you can eat the bread without anything,” Hajime says, picking a stray piece of rice off Oikawa’s cheek. “I get that the bread is sweet, but after two rolls it’s just plain.”

“Speak for yourself, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa scoffs. “Milk bread has flavor. Agedashi tofu has zero taste. It’s like when you think you’re eating something good but actually it’s just a disappointment.”

Hajime elbows him in the side, gently. “Which is why it’s the only dish you can make.”

Oikawa makes that guttural noise again. “Not true!”

Hajime’s finished off the rest of Oikawa’s riceball and they’re halfway into an intense argument about whether American salad is actually any good (Hajime is of the opinion that vegetables are better cooked, but Oikawa says raw is healthy) when the lady sitting across from them clears her throat meaningfully and shifts in her seat. Hajime blinks. He hadn’t realized he and Oikawa had gotten so close during their debate; Hajime is right up in Oikawa’s face, so close he can count the individual lashes weighing Oikawa’s eyelids down. Oikawa blinks, and Hajime settles back into his seat, heat prickling at the back of his neck.

Oikawa plays with his fingers, and Hajime coughs awkwardly.

Hajime’s gone back to staring out the window when the woman asks, “You two must be very good friends, aren’t you?”

He snaps his attention back to her. She clasps her bag closed, fiddling with the closure before letting her fingers fall slack. Hajime shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

He expects Oikawa to butt in with something characteristically obnoxious, but he just nods and hums in agreement, soft smile settling on his face. Hajime blinks. It’s surprisingly genuine.

The woman’s face breaks into a smile. “I remember being like that in high school,” she sighs, “with my best friend. We were in the math club together, and it seems like every other day we would fight over the littlest things. But she really was someone I trusted very deeply.”

Hajime has no idea why she’s telling them this. He does notice, though, that with every word she speaks, she seems to get older and older, the lines on her face growing deeper and her eyes growing wearier. What had seemed like a young working woman now appears burdened with age.

“High school students shouldn’t be out this late,” she chides them softly. It’s a few moments later that she says, “Cherish this time together, okay?”

Wide-eyed, Hajime nods.

Before long, the train stops at the next station, and the lady gets off, towing a large suitcase behind her and smiling tiredly at Oikawa. The doors slide shut with a hiss, and the train jolts into motion again, accelerating until the lights of the station are long behind them. Hajime doesn’t say anything, but he does lean into Oikawa, curling his back. Oikawa leans back, and they sit like that, leaning on each other and supporting each other’s body weight, until the train rolls back into Sendai.

 

* * *

 

Hajime’s missed the deadline for getting the recommended hours of sleep for people his age. “Recommended amount of sleep?” asks Oikawa. “Who actually gets that?”

Hajime scowls at him. He would have elbowed him, too, if he weren’t hefting such a large, unwieldy weight in his arms. “Did you just admit you haven’t been getting enough sleep? I told you to stop staying up so late to watch those videos.”

Oikawa’s offered to carry the box so many times already, but Hajime’s refused him each and every time. Hajime’s phone has long since died, so he’s relegated to Oikawa the task of being the navigator and deflecting Hajime’s father’s worried calls with reassuring texts. His arms are starting to get tired. (Starting is an understatement. He’s not even sure he can feel his fingers anymore.)

“Your mom is pissed,” Oikawa says. “She says you told her you would be back before dinner.”

Hajime groans. “Let’s just get home as soon as possible,” he says, rolling his shoulders and feeling the bones there crack. He almost walks straight into a light pole.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to-”

“I’m fine,” Hajime snaps, and that’s the end of that. Oikawa keeps shooting him worried glances out of the corner of his eye, and Hajime keeps pretending that he doesn’t notice.

By the time they get to his front door, Hajime feels like his feet have walked him to hell and back. He can barely keep his arms wrapped securely around the box as Oikawa jams the spare key Hajime gave him into the lock the wrong way. Oikawa spits out a few choice curses under his breath as he finally puts the key in correctly but turns it the wrong way, and Hajime would laugh at how oddly endearing it is if he weren’t so tired.

He expends the last bit of energy he has left toeing off his shoes and slowly, _carefully_ setting the box on his desk before gracelessly hurling himself onto his bed. He can’t be bothered to take his socks off, let alone his coat. Any snow that gets on his bed can wait.

Oikawa sits gingerly on his chair, fingers playing with the edge of the blanket he got Hajime as a gift a few years ago. Hajime moans, rolls over, and finally lets the weariness sick into his bones. _God, I feel like an old man._

“You still haven’t told me what your little escapade was for,” Oikawa mentions casually, fingers now picking absently at the tape on the box.

Hajime can’t even muster up enough strength to lift his head to scowl at him. “It wasn’t an escapade,” he mumbles into the blanket. “If you’re going to use words like that, call it a mission. I was collecting the items for the quest.”

Oikawa scowls at him, instead. “It was definitely an escapade,” he argues. “You skipped school to run off to Tokyo.”

“I’m not having this argument with you, again,” says Hajime.

Oikawa seems to relent at that. Hajime hears him settling into the chair, and closes his eyes. “I still think I deserve to know what’s in this box. I spent my entire afternoon running after you.”

Hajime snaps his eyes open again. “You didn’t have to,” he insists. “I know I’ve spent so long playing second fiddle to you that people think I’d be nothing without you, but I can do things like get home myself.”

Oikawa falls eerily silent, and Hajime bites back a curse. He didn’t mean to say that; he didn’t mean what he said, either. He’s heard that people are more honest when they’re tired, but he feels like a fountain right now, words spilling out without warning. They flow out with abandon, filling every nook and cranny of his bedroom and leaving him dry.

“Is that really how you feel?” Oikawa asks, in a small voice.

Hajime cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s just… stress. I’m sorry I said that.”

“No, Iwa-chan, _I’m_ sorry you felt like that.” Oikawa is holding his hand now; it’s a calming warmth that makes his clammy skin breathe a little easier. “We’re partners, and you always give as much as you get. I don’t care what anybody says. You’re an amazing wing spiker with my sets, and,” Hajime hears Oikawa pause, take a deep breath, and let it out, “you’d be an amazing one without them, too.”

His fingers wrap around the back of Oikawa’s hand. “Thanks.”

Now that one elephant in the room has been taken care of, Hajime figures he might as well deal with the other. With Oikawa’s help and a lot of effort, he hauls himself off the bed and makes Oikawa sit on it. He sets the box on Oikawa’s lap and gives him a pair of scissors. “It’s not Christmas yet, but open it.”

Puzzled, Oikawa nonetheless slits the box open quickly, pulling out packing peanuts and other various paddings. Hajime stands in front of him, hands fidgeting behind his back.

Oikawa draws in a sharp breath. “No.” He jerks his head up to look at Hajime, eyes blown wide. “Do you even know what you got me?”

Hajime knows exactly what he had gotten him. Extra-low-dispersion glass, the fastest microprocessors on the market, and a rock-solid build combine to make one of the best personal telescopes available to amateur astronomers. Oikawa had been eyeing this model for a while now, but told Hajime he would settle for a cheaper one. It had been very heavy, and _very expensive_. An investment, Hajime’s mother would call it.

Oikawa gapes at him, the words stolen from his mouth. “Wh-why-wha-”

“I know,” Hajime starts, and Oikawa cuts off, “that your parents want you to major in business, and you want to so we can go to the same university. But I also know it’s not what you love.”

“But-” Oikawa chokes up, clears his throat, and tries again. “Are you okay with that? We wouldn’t see each other often. Rarely, even.”

“Tokyo has better volleyball teams anyways,” Hajime says. “It’ll be okay. I’ve hung onto you for fifteen years, what makes you think I’ll let go now?”

Oikawa makes an ugly sobbing noise in the back of his throat, and then suddenly he pulls Hajime into a hug, squeezing as tightly as he can. Hajime wraps his arms around Oikawa, hands gripping onto his shirt. There are tears soaking his shirt, but there are also tears sliding down his cheeks, so there’s nothing much he can do about it. _Hug it out,_ his father would say. _Just let it all out._

It takes a while before they’ve both calmed down enough to look at each other without starting to cry again. “Graduation is in less than a year,” Oikawa hiccups.

“Don’t remind me,” Hajime rasps.

Oikawa’s face is blotchy with tears, and his nose is running. Hajime isn’t sure he looks any better himself.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers.

Hajime takes his hand again, and holds it.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [@yaoyoroses](https://yaoyoroses.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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